


In the Interim

by Shaindy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s10e23 My Brother's Keeper, Minor Character(s), Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:01:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7610098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaindy/pseuds/Shaindy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10.23 Missing Scene - Billie the Reaper is summoned by the Boss for a little chat before he goes to meet with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Interim

**Author's Note:**

> Billie the Reaper has really become a favourite of mine over the past while. Her style, her snark but most of all Lisa Berry’s performance make me want to see her all. the. time. It’s also made me wonder why she’s the way she is and why she seems to have a particular hate on for the Winchesters. I wrote this as a possible explanation. It takes place during 10.23 which is before we first officially met her in 11.01.
> 
> Thanks to semira for the beta and for help in hammering out the inconsistencies. Go read her fic if you haven't already, and go to her tumblr to see her amazing graphic edits and her artwork (semirahrose.tumblr.com).

She’d always been different. Even for a reaper.

From the form she had been taking for the past few hundred years – women reapers were rare, reapers of colour were rarer, women Reapers of _colour_ almost non-existent – to the way she spoke, to the way she carried out her purpose, she was different.

Billie could feel it even from other reapers. She was different and they all knew it.

She’d always gone about her duties as she had been created to do, and she did her best to conduct those she reaped to their final rest with dignity and respect, but she was restless, had always been restless, and sometimes it came out in sharp words and snide comments. Some of her charges brought it out more than others – she was always gentle with the children – but she was never rebuked, never brought to heel, as many of the other reapers had been when they’d stepped out of line. It was almost as if she was being encouraged in her waywardness, in some odd way.

It takes her a long, long time to find out why.

* * * * * *

When she’s summoned, it’s to a human cabin, golden light drifting through the leaves of the trees surrounding it. There’s birdsong in the air, and a light breeze that brings the scent of wildflowers.

It’s all a mirage.

She walked up to the door of the imagined cabin and hesitated; not a common thing for a reaper to do. Eventually, she worked up her courage, raised her hand and knocked.

She hears a clipped, ‘Enter’, and pushes open the door.

If she were human, Billie supposes she would find the inside of the cabin comfortable. There’s a warm, yeasty smell coming from what she assumes is the kitchen, and bookshelves crammed with books of all types line the walls. There’s a fire crackling in the hearth, two overstuffed armchairs set in front of it.

Death Himself sits in one of them.

Reapers are created knowing their purpose; few of them have ever had reason to have an actual face-to-face with the boss. She stops and waits for instructions.

“Come.” He gestures with a cadaverous hand. “Sit.”

She crosses to the other chair and sits, feeling the weight of Death’s gaze on her. She’s beyond old, but He is unimaginably older, one of the Horsemen, and even she is wary of his wrath. She supposes, though, that it is likely past time for her to be cut down to size, for even she knows that she has crossed the line on more than one occasion. She has had little patience in the past for those who have hated others just on the basis of skin colour or sex. It was one of the reasons she chose the persona she had. It had disconcerted more than one person when a black woman showed up to reap them.

Death regards her silently, both hands now resting on his walking stick. “I have been watching you, Billie.”

She raises a well-manicured eyebrow. He sees right through her, she knows, but her motto for this moment is _Show no fear._ She leans back in the chair. “Have you?”

“I have.”

“All right, I’ll bite.” She takes a deep breath. “Why?”

“Because you are…special.”

“Honey, I didn’t need you to tell me that.” She eyes Death warily. “Why’d you summon me here?”

“I might have need soon of someone with your abilities. With your attitude. Your creation was not an accident.”

“No reaper’s creation was an accident.”

“Mmm.” He gestures and a steaming cup of tea appears on the table beside him. He reaches out and lifts it delicately, takes a sip. “Have you truly never considered why you are so different?”

“It may have crossed my mind once or twice.”

“Indeed. And it never occurred to you to ask why?”

Billie smirks. “And who would I have asked? You?”

“Touché.” He smiles – not an entirely comforting sight, and she loses the smile. “You might be called upon, Billie.”

“How so?”

“Events are proceeding.” It’s cryptic, but what else can you expect from Death? “As it happens, I have been summoned myself.”

“By who?”

“Dean Winchester. He who bears the Mark of Cain.”

She sucks in an involuntary breath. She knows the name, of course she does. He and his brother are the cause of so many of the divine world’s imbalances. It was an itch in her mind that never truly went away. So many reapers had gone for them, only to be pushed back. Even those times when one of them had actually been to the other side, the other always pulled them back. She wants her shot at them.

She edges forward on her chair, trying not to seem too eager. “And what do you need from me?”

“I will admit to some curiosity as to what he wants from me. Few mortals have the nerve to call for me directly.” He gestures at the cabin around them with his teacup. “We are in the instant between his summoning and me going.”

“And?”

“Well.” He sets the teacup down and leans forward so they are almost in each other’s personal space. She wants this so badly she can almost taste it. “The Winchesters, Dean in particular, are volatile, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Indeed.” She can’t resist using his own word on him.

He smirks. “One can never be truly sure of coming back from an encounter with the Winchesters.” He snaps and the teacup disappears. “And I have a feeling about this meeting.”

“You still haven’t said what you want from me.”

“You would be correct.” He gestures and the walking stick becomes the weapon he is most often pictured with. “I suspect that at some point, if not tonight, it might be necessary to…pass on the scythe, as it were. Not to you, that’s not your purpose, but you might be needed to keep things running for some time.”

She stares at Death in shock. It’s not easy to surprise a reaper, but never, in all the millennia she had existed, had she ever suspected this.

* * * * * * *

When it happens, Billie feels it. They all feel it. How could one not feel the end of Death as they know it? She’s almost surprised that the mortals they reap haven’t felt the seismic shift in the universe, but mortals are so insensitive.

She’s the only one who knows who’s responsible, though other reapers might suspect. Who else in the mortal world would be able to take out Death but one of the Winchesters?

The scythe doesn’t suddenly appear in her hand, of course, and she doesn’t bother to go look for it, knowing it’s gone along with its wielder. Though a woman of colour with a scythe. Now _that_ would be fun, she thinks.

Billie hadn’t told Death at their meeting, but she had decided that if the worst came to pass she would have a new purpose. She was first amongst equals right now – at least until Death came back, or a new Death appeared – and as such, she was giving herself one job.

When the Winchesters’ time came – and it _would_ come eventually – she was going to be the one to reap them. And they were going where no one, not even another Winchester, not even God himself, would be able to find them. The Empty was waiting.

And she would see to it they got there.

* * * * * *


End file.
